


Failed Repetition

by Avidfanficwriter



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Mentions of marriage, Mild Language, Wanting different things, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-02-29 09:37:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18775636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avidfanficwriter/pseuds/Avidfanficwriter
Summary: For as long as Chris can remember, he’s wanted to get married. He has wanted the white picket fence, beautiful wife on his arm and a house full of kids unlike his counterpart who isn’t thrilled with the prospect of marriage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea came about after I read, (yes, I’m an ass) an interview quote from Chris saying he wants to get married, have kids. The whole nine yards.

**_Being stuck in an endless cycle can only remain the norm for so long_ **

* * *

It’s going to be an argument, that he knows long before he opens his mouth. It always becomes an argument. No matter how subtle he is, one of them will say something and an argument will be the end result. It always ends that way and yet he can’t not ask the question. 

Chris watches Reagan from afar, her lower lip between her teeth, her brows furrowed as she’s entranced in her book. A past time in which she refuses to be bothered during, “I get twenty minutes a day where I don’t have to do anything, you leave me and my book alone.” Which is never a problem with him, he is content in watching her, seeing every reaction spread across her face as she reads silently. Only to have her recite what happened with such delight after she’s done. He’s never read the book, can’t tell you the name of it but he loves to hear the happiness in her voice when two characters get together or the bad guy meets his demise. He holds her when she mourns over a character’s death, lovingly strokes her back as her tears fall reminding her it’s only a story which creates more pain. “You don’t understand.” She’d whine into his chest and he’d have to fight the urge to chuckle. 

It’s her magical world, a place where unicorns exists, happiness is forever and love is always found. In the pages of her novels, she’d meet hundreds of people, witness thousands of declaration of love, breaks ups, children being born and weddings that made her wept. 

A detail in which he couldn’t understand, vows that were written behind a computer screen for fictional characters could impact her but the actual possibility of marriage sent disgust down her spine. 

She abhorred marriage, as if it was a drug threatening to leak toxic chemicals into her veins. It’s a sensitive topic which is why he knows it’s going to end badly, each time he brings it up their fights get worse. Their last fight ended with him sleeping on the couch and Reagan ignoring him for three days. 

She’s as pretty as she is mean. The definition of a bark worse than their bite. Her little mouth can spin masterful sentences, that he blames on her admiration of books. Someone with a career in acting shouldn’t have been that gifted with words. This time he expects bringing up the topic will earn him three days on the couch and six days of her ignoring his existence.

Reagan lets out a loud sigh, closing her book and placing it on the coffee table. She has to work, forget her perfect world hidden beneath two pieces of leather and warm pages for a white script held together with glue. To her, they weren’t the same. It wasn’t as easy to lose herself in the story like a book. She claims it’s because a book is written for you to picture while a script is written for someone to portray. “You don’t see the character as they are described, you see the actor’s depiction of how the character should look.”

She gives him a quick kiss before leaving to find her latest script. His window of opportunity is open, it’s now or never. She returns with her script beneath her arm and grabs a can of soda out of the fridge before settling back on the couch.

Chris stands, shaking the tension out of his arms and taking a loud breath, “Can we talk?”

Her brow arches but her eyes don’t leave the pages. “Mm?”

“Rea?” He waits for her attention, waits for her eyes to meet his before continuing. “Can we talk?”

“Yes.”

“Can we talk about it?” Her face drops, the smile she was wearing seems to leak off being replaced with a scowl. If the script she was holding had a cover, he’s sure when she closed it, she would have purposely made it slam shut.

“No.” Reagan shakes her head, tossing her script onto the couch cushions. She rises to her feet, abandoning her drink on the coffee table and tries to escape Chris by going to the kitchen. Hoping he won’t follow her. 

“Why?” He follows her.

Reagan shakes her head again, pushing her brown curls away from her face, feeling ambushed. “Because the answer is the same.” She lets out a exasperated sigh, her green eyes look around and immediately she realizes the kitchen was the worst place to be there is nothing to do. No dishes, no cleaning. Nothing to distract herself from Chris’ conversation which is a startling revelation. “Is this why you invited me here? To stuff me into a hotel room and corner me into discussing this? Knowing if it got out of hand, you could storm off to work and leave me here?”

He furrows his brow and walks towards her, putting his hand close to her hip.. “No, God no. I missed you, I wanted us to spend time together; that’s why you’re here.”

“Then why bring this up now?”

Reagan leans against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s not in the mood for this, especially not considering how it ends.

“It’s important to me.”

“It’s important to you that you continually ask me to marry you, even though my answer is always the same?”

“I’m not asking you, I’m asking why there isn’t a possibility.”

Reagan rubs her face and lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “I don’t know why we have to keep having this discussion, Chris. My answer isn’t going to magically change, today or tomorrow. I’ve told you multiple times, I don’t want to get married.”

“I do!” He doesn’t mean to raise his voice but it happens. It’s loud and emotional.

They stare at each other for the longest time unaware of how to move on. The next words need to be chosen carefully, both are on edge and extremely annoyed. One mistaken word or phrase taken the wrong way and it’ll blow up.

“I love you.” She says with eyes that can only be described as full of pain. “I do, okay? If I didn’t I wouldn’t have spent these last six years with you, but I told you on our first date and on our year anniversary that I didn’t want to get married and you said that was okay.” There isn’t a hint of deception in her voice, no false leading or distraction effort to not fight. It’s genuine. “You told me that it was fine. That you understood.” 

“I was… But I want us to get married. I want to marry you.” 

"And I still don’t want to get married.” She shakes her head. “I don’t get why this is a big deal for you?”

“It’s what you do when you love someone.”

“Me not marrying you doesn’t mean I don’t love you, you know I do. It’s a personal opinion. I’ve told you I want to be with you, that I’m committed to you, I want to have kids with you, grow old together. Maybe proving you love someone by marrying them was what you did half a century ago but if we were supposed to abide by that then we’ve broken a lot of ‘rules.’ We live together, I’m not a virgin, you’re not. we’ve had sex before marriage. We’d be shunned. I love you by saying it… By being here. Getting married shouldn’t be the proving point.”

“Marriage is important to me.”

“I get that but all I’m asking is what does a piece of paper prove or even say that I’m not? Am I not saying I love you enough? Showing enough affection? Being involved?”

This is the longest conversation they’ve had on the topic of marriage, it’s uncharted territory. They should be fighting right now, her disappearing into the bedroom and him slumping into the couch angered. There is no saying what could happen now, they don’t have an guideline to steer their next steps. 

“I just need to know if we’re ever going to get married?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“You can’t even say ten years from now, we might?”

“No.” Reagan takes a step back forming an invisible barrier between them. “And you can’t convince me to give you false hope. All that is going to do is make you resent me. Or end marrying you just to make you happy and end up regretting that.”

“So marrying me would be a mistake?” Now his voice raises with angry masking the hurt.

“That is not what I said! Give me one goddamn reason why you’re so hellbent on marriage. One reason why I should say ‘screw it all’ and marry you right now?”

“It’s the beginning of our life together, it allows us to take the next step.”

Her mouths opens but slowly closes. Her words caught in her throat and Chris doesn’t realize the extent of the damage he’s done or what it means for them. She lets out a shaky breath. “So if we don’t get married… We’re not moving forward?”

“I want us to get married and have a family… In that order and if it’s not going to happen then-”

“Then what?” She scoffs, stepping even further back. “Then we’re not going to have kids? Move to a better house? We’re just stuck? Then what?” She asks with her frustration growing. 

He swallows hard, "Then maybe we’re not going to work.”

Reagan tries to force her tears back, tries to force the lump forming in her throat away but can’t prevent the heartbreak from appearing on her face. “Then maybe that’s the part we should be discussing instead.”


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. 504 hours spent living separately; a perfectly timed press tour of Reagan's had came up, forcing her to leave just two days after their argument. Which ended on as much of a sour note as it began. The tour came as a sign from God, allowing them both their much needed separation. They didn't kiss, hug or even say goodbye when she left. They seemed to avoid one another both terrified the inevitable truth would come to light. Even with their distanced goodbye, it didn't mask the pain that filled Chris' heart at the sight of her leaving.

"If that's not going to happen...Then maybe we're not going to work." A devastating revelation. Gut wrenching, earth shattering and heartbreaking statement that put their future, their lives and their relationship into perspective.

Six years worth of a relationship was being threatened by thirteen words.

Thirteen words, Chris never should have said. Words that he soon find himself regretting after looking into her green eyes. Pain, heartbreak; agony; distress? He couldn't pick which emotion it was but it killed him. The way she stepped back, tore her eyes from his and her breathing quickened. It was a sight he would never forget. A sight he would never be able to live down.

In reality, three weeks was nothing to sweat over, they'd spent months apart while working but this was the only time both parties neglected to contact one another. There were attempts, Chris would begin dialing her number but find himself unable to put in the last digit. He'd written twenty pages worth of text messages only to erase every word. Reagan found herself in a similar situation, calls that never happened, messages that were never sent. They were stuck.

While Chris' conscious was eating at him, it was the public that was berating Reagan. Each and every interview had at least one mention of Chris, questions full of how they were doing, if he was with her, what he thought of the movie all of which she struggled to answer. 

While there was an insatiable urge to contact one another, there was another bubbling at the surface, a much somber one. They didn't want to talk to each other. It wasn't because of anger or grief but that they both knew, the second they heard each other's voices the same fight would simply resume. Creating new issues and another set of problems that neither of them needed. Their relationship was in tangles and a simple mistake could be the end.

Chris returned home on the sixteenth day to a empty home where memories of their fight played on a never ending loop, every night he rested his head on the pillow. He'd made a mistake, he knew that and he was paying for that. Yet there was truth in his words and maybe the possibility that finally saying those could -- in the long run --be a good thing. Maybe that was what they needed, the truth to finally be said between them. Maybe this was the closure, he needed. 

He missed Reagan, missed her voice even found himself clutching one of her books to his chest trying to remember one of her many rants. He missed her but he was glad she was gone. Time apart meant they had time to think it over so they didn't do anything rash.

Sleep seemed to be difficult to conquer, each night he tossed and turned; frustrated groans pass through his lips and just when he begins to give up, sleep takes him hostage. in the morning, he never woke rested, his eyes felt weighted; his body weak and he longed to curl beneath the covers once again. No matter the hours of sleep, he managed to get, he was always tired.

Chris is facing another ruthless night, sleep isn't coming and his annoyance is growing. He’s to invested in his fight to sleep that he neglects to hear Reagan's arrival. Their obnoxiously loud garage door opening goes unnoticed as does the jingle of her keys being placed on the counter. It's after she lets out a sigh and feels the bed shift does he realize she's home. He's laying on his side, blankets wrapped around his waist as he faces the window unsure of what's going to happen. 

There's multiple scenarios that could play out: They talk and apologize for things that were said. They don't talk but lay in their bed and let the silence play out. They lay in bed and hold one another then he whispers an apology for his foolishness. They talk which turns into an argument and then he's on the couch. Or maybe-- and he knows this is unlikely --she says she'll marry him, that she thought it over and they should wed.

None of them happen.

Reagan doesn't move, doesn't speak; in fact he's positive if he wasn't awake, he wouldn't have realized she was home. She rises to her feet with another sigh, he hears their dresser open, the roll from the closet door and then the bathroom door open and close.

Even when they are together, they've still managed to ignore the others existence. Chris' is at fault as much as she is, not that it's a blame game but they both had ample time to do something. He could've greeted her, hugged her or even said he missed but instead continued to pretend he was asleep. The same can be said for Reagan, she could've done something but chose to get a shower instead.

When she exits the bathroom, the heat from the shower fills the room mixing with the scent of her body wash: grapefruit. A fruit he's never been to fond of but found comfort when the smell lingered on their bed. 

An hour had went by when Chris' blue eyes open, his original intent was to rest his eyes for a moment instead he fell asleep.. Immediately he reaches out behind him for Reagan as he usually does. She was his comfort, a night he woke up to early to start his day, he would pull Reagan close to his chest and fall back asleep. This time when he reaches behind him, he's met with a cold spot.

She’s home, he knows she’s home. He heard her. Why isn’t she in bed?

The blankets are undisturbed, her cell phone isn't on the charger, she's not in the room. He’s not panicking yet, she’s fallen asleep in the living room in the past, maybe she was there. It’s possible, she went to watch television out there to not disturb him but wound up falling asleep. 

He searches the living room, she’s not there. The kitchen is empty. The dining room is empty but her luggage is still sitting behind the couch. She’s home, that much he knows. The last place he checks is the guest room where he finds her curled up beneath the cotton blankets, he lets out a deep sigh and leans against the door jamb. 

He contemplates joining her or convincing her to come back to bed with him. No matter how much he wants to, he can’t do it. They aren’t ready for that. She’s not ready for that thus the reason she opted to sleep in another room. Asking her to come with him or even joining her would be foolish. This wasn’t a fight they could simply ignore or pick up the pieces and move on without discussing. 

They had to discuss this. He needed to apologize. In the end, he returns to bed and falls asleep waiting for morning to arrive. 

The next morning, Chris is awoken by the bright beams of sunlight streaming through the window. He expects to hear noise throughout the house, the t.v. in the living room, music playing or even the smell of coffee but the house feels emptier. He puts on a fresh T-shirt and heads to the kitchen, making a pot of coffee to bring Reagan, she’s either sleeping in or hiding in the guest room. With a mug of steaming coffee in his hands, he goes to the room and nearly drops the mug when she's not here. It's almost an exact replica of last night, the bed is made, the sheets untouched, nothing looks disturbed. Once again he searches the house for her, trying to find her only to come up empty.

He checks the garage, her car is gone. Her luggage behind the couch is gone. Her keys are missing. Then he notices upon checking their room just to be safe, more of her clothes are gone as are a few more of her suitcases.

He returns to the living room, hyperventilating. She didn't have anything else work related coming up there was no reason for her to be gone. Then on the counter, he notices it.

It's cash, a key and note.

> _"Chris,  
>  I've left you $140 dollars for this months phone bill, I'll be canceling my line in the next few weeks. I left the key to the house on the counter and the garage door opener is in the drawer._
> 
> _Take care,  
>  Reagan."_


	3. Chapter 3

_Take care, Reagan._

**_Take care, Reagan._ **

The note was ended as if they hadn't spent the last six years together, like they hadn't lived together for four years or the 'I love yous' shouted during nights of passion were meaningless. 

The note closes as if they were strangers, two random people who accidently bumped into one another on the sidewalk. Distant, Cold and longing to get away from one another. This wasn't how two people in love parted. 

Was this what he deserved? A note as a goodbye--In place of a conversation? No explanation. No speech. Just a discarded piece of paper left on the counter and an insensitive ' _Take care._ '

Twenty minutes after reading the note, it finally starts to sink in, Chris calls Reagan and leaves her a long rambling voicemail that says nothing more than, "I love you, please come back." in fifteen different ways. He promises he'll stop bring marriage up, that it's not even that important to him if it costs him her.  They should talk in person, he says the first thing that comes to his mind in the voicemail and it mimics someone whose entirely lost, which he is. She's gone and he's to blame. 

The pain hasn't set in yet, right now it's just pure panic. 

He wanders around the house, searching for anything to keep his mind occupied while he waits for her to call back. Two hours pass and he sends her a text message: 

"Reagan I love you Im sorry just come home so we can talk about this." 

No response. 

The house feels like it's haunted with memories of Reagan, every space inside the home reminds him of her. The counter where she accidently spilled her tea onto one of his scripts, they spent three hours blowing drying the pages so they were legible. The couch in the living room that looked amazing in the store but they soon discovered looked terrible after being brought into their home. The hole in the wall from when they put the paintings up, Chris slipped and in order to avoid hitting Reagan with the hammer he slammed it into the wall creating a huge hole; it became a great conversation starter. If it's not the memories torturing him, it's his mind tricking him into believing she's home. 

Chris starts to beat himself up, if he would have just told her he was awake when she came home this wouldn't have happened. If he wasn't stubborn for just one moment of his life, he wouldn't have lost the best thing to ever happen to him. Even if he would have joined her in the guest room or carried her into their bedroom, this could have played out differently. They could have spoken, he could have prevented her from leaving. He would be exiled to the couch but at least she would've been home. 

By noon, Chris had resorted to drinking in order to prevent himself from calling Reagan, at first it seemed like a good idea, he'd get drunk enough to pass out and by tomorrow she would be home. His plan was flawed, instead of passing out, he wound up calling Reagan again. 

"I miss you." He whispers into the phone, his body slack and head spinning. "I do. I miss all of you, your tiny smirk when I'd say something smart, the curl in your hair you always fought to get out of your eyes; the way you bit your lip when you read." He exhales deeply, closing his eyes and holding the phone tighter to his ear. "I miss how you sound when I'm buried inside of you, those fucking pretty little sounds you make. I miss feeling your thighs shake around my head while you pull my hair as you beg for more."

Sober Chris had boundaries. Drunk Chris didn't care. "The way you taste, how you linger on my tongue hours after we're done and all I want to do when I come home is bury my head between your thighs again. Fuck, Rea..." He groans, palming his erection through his sweatpants. "I love the way your lips feel against mine, how your heart rate increases when I kiss along your collarbone. How your chest rises as I kiss down your body like you're on full display for me. I love that... I love you, Reagan."

Phone call number two, is less sexual but not at all any better. 

"Do you remember when we first started dating?" He asks, glancing at the photos of them along the wall. "You told me you only dated guys that took relationships series, I told you I was one of them and you made this big schedule of things for us to do for me to prove my worth? And one of them was cooking? You made this fucking amazing meal, that stuffed bell peppers stuff and a homemade cheesecake and when it came my turn It was so bad."

Chris lets out a small chuckle over the memory. "I tried to make some chicken recipe I found online but I burned it. The smoke detectors were going off, the house smelled like smoke and then you showed up and I thought you were going to run. I could see it, this look of fear on your face." Chris shakes his head, rubbing at his eyebrow. "I ended up making eggs and we had to eat them outside because of the smell. Then you made that pie for thanksgiving to take over to my mom's and I burned that too. All I had to do was take it out of the oven while you were in the shower but I forgot. We should do that again, Rea."

Chris closes his eyes. "My mother would kill me but I always loved your pies more. Blueberry was my favorite." He clears his throat. "Do you remember that blueberry one we made for my nieces fundraiser and somehow we ended up eating it on the floor in the kitchen? My sister was so mad at us." 

Phone called number three is mess. Chris doesn't know what he's saying anymore or what he's even trying to get at. Words are just coming out. 

"Reagan" He starts off, holding back a sob. "I walked into the bathroom earlier and your soap was gone. I started crying... over soap. Soap!" He sniffles and lets out a small laugh. "I spent twenty minutes just sobbing in the restroom. I was fine when I saw you took some clothes but that soap. That stupid grapefruit soap you took and it broke me." Chris starts chuckling as tears pile in his eyes. "I didn't cry over the note you left, I was shocked but that goddamn empty shelf in the shower broke me." He voices slowly trails off into a whisper.

Chris wipes a tear that falls from his eye, "You're not coming back tomorrow are you?" He questions with a deep sigh.  "I just...I just wanna hear your voice, just pick up the phone, baby. God, Reagan." He pleads. "if you just give me a second to explain...." 

"If you’re satisfied with your message, press 1. If you’re not and want to re-record, press 2. If you want to delete and start over, press 3." The voicemail recording interrupts him. 

Chris growls, "Fuck!" he shouts throwing the phone across the room. 

There's pain ripping through his chest as the hours pass, all he wants is for her to call him back or magically walk through the front door. He wants her to yell at him, call him an idiot, kick him out of the house that would hurt far less than what she's doing now. If they were arguing or fighting and she slammed the bedroom door on him it wouldn't hurt like this was. This, Reagan leaving with her things, refusing to answer his calls was torture. It felt like his heart was being pulled out of his body as if the arteries were being stretched until they tore. 

He's done drinking, it's not helping, it's only worsening his heartache. The liquid seems to only intensify his emotions, everything makes him cry. The sight of a book she left, feels like a stab to the chest. Her coffee cup in the cabinet, makes him hold his chest and collapse to the ground. The smell of her perfume on the sheets in the guest bedroom makes him ill. 

The second day isn't any easier, there's still no phone call from Reagan, or text message; or even an email. He drinks a cup of coffee and stares at the harrowing note that he hasn't been able to move from the counter. It's been reread multiple times as if he's searching for something else, a hidden meaning behind one of the words; or the possibility he's misunderstood it. There's nothing new, no matter how many times he reads it, it's just more heartache. 

With his head on straight and no alcohol in his system, he calls her one more time. 

The phone goes to voicemail and his stomach drops. There was a tiny part of him that expected her to answer this time. It's been twenty-four hours since he's seen her and even longer since he's spoken to her.

"Reagan," He starts out, calmly. "Baby," he tries to focus on his breathing, slow and deep breathes so he doesn't lose sight of what he's doing here. He wants Reagan to come home. That's his goal, to get his girl to come back home. "I... fuck." With a loud groan, he drops the phone from his ear and rubs his face. He doesn't know what to say or how to began. He's left her countless messages that got him nowhere, if any of them counted this was the one.. "I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. Just please come home, we can talk about this." He's bargaining, hoping she hears the sincerity in his voice before realizing his statement could be taken the wrong way. "No, I mean, we don't have anything to talk about. Okay? I fucked up, you're right. I shouldn't be forcing you to do what I want, I should've just shut up. I want to get married but if I have to choose between you or that, I choose you. I want you. I want you as my girl, my girlfriend, my friend, lover. Whatever we want to call it, I'm for. I can't lose you." He's rambling. "I love you, please just come home." 

Three hours pass and the realization she may never come back home finally gets to him, he panics in the middle of making something to eat. It's a simple task but he caught sight of the Captain America: The First Avengers script Reagan had framed for him and it hit him like a punch to the gut. 

His heart beat like a jackhammer, his mind is racing and he's struggling to breathe.

His fingers are tingling and the room is getting dangerously hot. 

His body hurts and he's on the verge of passing out. 

He can hear his heartbeat and feel it in his eardrums.

A panic attack. 

Chris digs his cell phone out of his pocket and calls Reagan. 

"Answer... Answer, Reagan. Please." 

"This is Reagan, leave a message." Voicemail again. 

He groans, hanging up the phone and grabs at his chest. The tips of his fingers are on fire, burning his skin, adding to the pain. Then he calls her again and again. Listening to her voice on her voicemail starts to calm him, his heart rate gets under control, the pressure on his lungs starts to dissipate. He can focus.

On the last phone call, he leaves one simple message. "Reagan, I'm so fucking sorry." 

The next phone call he makes is wrong, it's not his place but if anyone knows how to get ahold of Reagan it would be her mother. She may have neglected to tell him where she was going but she would always tell her mother.

"Chris, she told me not to talk to you." Her mother says quickly after answering the phone. 

He exhales deeply. "I just need to talk to her. She left in the middle of the night and she wont answer her phone." 

"She's upset, Chris." 

"I know!" He grabs his hair and groans. "I took it to far, I fucked up but I woke up and she was gone. Her stuff is gone and I'm suppose to just be okay with that?" He questions. "I don't get a chance to apologize or an opportunity to talk? I don't get to fight for her? She decides one night that we're done and that's it? I don't get told she doesn't want to be with me or that she doesnt love me to my face?"

Reagan's mother sighs. "Chris, honey..."

"We been together for six years, Margaret... six years. I love her. She's the last thing I think about before going to bed and the first thing I think about when I wake up. I can't... This can't end this way."

* * *

 Chris knocks on the door, quietly at first before building up the courage to knock harder. The lock clicks causing his heart to race then the door slowly opens and there she is. Their eyes meet and she looks away, glancing at the ground with a sigh. "My mother?" She asks.

"Your mother." Chris says, shoving his hands into his pockets.


	4. Chapter 4

Reagan sighs exasperatedly and rests her forehead on the wooden door, her dark blue nails remain on the doorknob useful if she needs a quick escape. "Reagan." He says in a breathless whisper, his voice caught in his throat. She's even more beautiful if it was possible.

"How long did it take her to break?" She questions. 

"Ten minutes." He gives her a small smile that quickly fades when she doesn't return one. "Can we talk?" 

"I don't have anything to say." Reagan says with annoyance on her voice. 

"I do." 

"I don't." 

"I do."

"I don't want to hear it." 

"Reagan..." Chris groans and rubs his face when he realizes how horrible he must look. He's beard is grown out, unkept and unclean. His eyes have to be swollen from the tears that fell and there's probably dark bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep. All signs that he's having trouble coping with this, which could play into his favor but also cost him. There is a part of him that hopes she will see past his appearance, that beneath this mess he's still the man that is devoted to her. "I want..I need you to know that I'm sorry." He pleads. 

"I know." She gives him a nod. "I listened to your voicemails."

Chris mumbles a curse word under his breath, completely forgetting about those putrid calls. "I was-" 

"-drunk?" 

"Yes." 

"I noticed."

"Reagan, I was drunk. I didn't..." He starts before abandoning his sentence he doesn't know where it was going or what point he was trying to make, she'd see past any lie he'd put up against her. He could blame it on her damn books but in truth it just goes to show how much she knows him. He looks up at her, catching her green eyes in his. Those beautiful emerald eyes he's missed waking up to force his heart to burst open. "When are you coming home?" 

"I'm not." 

"You're not?"

"No." 

Chris inhales deeply, choking back a sob that threatens to escape. "Why not?" 

"You know why." 

"Because we had a fight?"

Reagan forces an uncomfortable smile on her face, trying to be calm. They can do this, they can have a conversation. "No, because we keep having the same fight and you..." Reagan swallows and exhales slowly. "you let a lot out a lot of shit last time and it's putting more shit into perspective and I'm tired of it."

"You're tired of me showing you that I love you?"

"Showing me you love me is cornering me in a room and hounding me over getting married? Even when I've told you I don't multiple times?" 

"Is it wrong of me to want to marry the woman I love?" He asks, resting his hands on the door jamb. His blood pressure is rising.  

"No! It's wrong of you to keep asking when you already know what my answer is!" She raises her voice. "You act like everytime it comes up, I'm gonna have this new answer that will fit your lifestyle." 

"My lifestyle? What the hell does that mean?" 

"I don't know, Chris maybe that if we never get married we're never going to move past this stage in our life." Reagan drops her hand from the doorknob and groans. "I'm thirty-two years old, Chris, I'm not some nineteen year old kid who's still figuring life out, I know what I want. One of those decisions I've made is that I don't want to get married and the other is that I want to have children and being told that if I don't bow down to your wishes that's never going to happen is completely bullshit." She swallows hard, filling with more anger. "Why should I spend my time with someone who even though they want the same thing refuses to have that because they want a piece of paper that says we're married. You act like marriage is this big sign that I'm okay with having a baby and being with you for the rest of our lives, I've told you I want that. I don't know any other ways to get it to you. Do you want to me spell it out for you? Shout it to the world? I'm okay with gaining weight, getting aches and pains, enduring god knows how many hours of labour to bring your child into this world and you're throwing a fit because I don't want to get married but I'm willingly to push a six pound baby out of my fucking vagina for us. So tell me again, why marriage is a greenlight for us to have a family and be together? How do I even know marrying you would get us to that point? What if the next thing you decide is I have to stop working?." 

"I didn't mean any of that." 

"Oh, right." There's so much sarcasm on her voice that's trying to hide the tears forming in her eyes. "You just said it, right?" 

"I was mad." Chris argues, dropping his head.

"I get mad, but I would never tell you we wouldn't move on if we didn't do something I wanted." 

"I didn't mean it like that." Chris lets out yet another sigh, growing annoyed by how many times he's done that instead of being able to talk. They haven't reached the point of no return yet but are slowly approaching it. "I just... I want us to get married, I want--"

"Oh my god, you're ridiculous." Reagan gives him dry laugh and turns back into her room, quickly slamming the door behind her. 

Chris is taken back by the force behind the door and barely manages to get his fingers out of the way before they are smashed. "Fuck." He lets with a frustrated breathe. His jaw clenches and he places his palm on the white door as if that will help him convey his emotions better."Re-Reagan." 

"Go home!" She shouts from behind the door in a tone, he knows means he has to choose his words carefully. 

"I'm not going home without you." 

"I'm not going home!" 

In an act of annoyance, he grabs the gold door knob and turns it, forcing the door open and is met with Reagan who's standing in the middle of the room with her hands in her hair. "Why didn't I lock the fucking door?" He hears her question in a quiet voice, mostly likely directed at herself. He looks around her room, the missing suitcase is against the wall near the bedroom, her latest book is left open on the couch, ruining the spine and he cringes over the anger she'll have when she realizes that. 

"Is this how it's going to happen? You decide that it's over and I don't get a say?" He asks, slamming the door closed behind him.

"That's how breaks ups work. One person decides they can't do it anymore and leaves." 

"It's not what I want." 

She growls, throwing her arms in the air and facing him. "You want one thing with a hundred stipulations that I have to follow in order to even achieve happiness." 

"I want us to get married, what is so bad about marriage?" He asks. 

"I don't want too, I don't need a ring, or paper or a fancy wedding to say I love you. I don't want it. I have never dreamed about a fancy wedding or my future husband, I just wanted to grow up, fall in love and be with that person. And that person is... you." Her voice starts to break and her tears are back. "And as much as I love you, I can't see myself marrying you or anyone for that matter. Marriage has just been something I've never wanted." 

"It's something I want." 

"I know," Reagan nods her head, finally letting a tear fall. "but arguing about it and begging for it isn't getting us anywhere but back in the same mess."

"That's not what I'm doing." 

"It's what we're doing right now! You came over here and still want to know why I'm not marrying you even after I've told you why. I'm tired of talking about this."

Chris holds his arms out. "Fine, you want to stop talking about it?" He asks, clapping his hands together and wiping them against one another as if to clean his hands of the conversation. "See done. No more, We won't discuss it anymore."

"Don't do this." Reagan begs. "just go home."

"Not until you do."

"I'm not going to live there anymore." It's a stab to his gut and a bullet wound to his heart all at the same time, pain radiates through his body. She's shot him. She always comes back, always does. No matter the fight, she would always come back to him. He's in trouble now so he shifts gears, fearing he's at risk of losing her for good this time. "We don't have to get married." He lets out in a rushed tone. 

"Chris--"

"No, listen to me." He's begging with a voice so broken it hurts, he grabs at her hand, squeezing it in his own. "I want you in my life and If I have to give up marriage for you, I will. I want you." 

"You're telling me that in ten years you won't bring it up?" She watches him chew his lip and say a quiet yes. "Even if we went to friends or family members weddings, you wouldn't ever bring it up?" 

"For you, yes." There's a tremble in his voice that he wasn't as noticeable. 

"Then why spend six years berating me to marry you?"

"I'm an idiot, Rea. I've been so caught up on this marriage idea that it's clouded everything."

Reagan swipes her thumb over his hand, "You're lying and that's why we can't be together. You're always going to want to get married and I'm not. If I stay with you and we don't get married, you'll resent me for not being able to give you that and I'll be unhappy because I can't. If we get married, who's to say you don't start to question why we got married one day? That you'll start to wonder if i married you because I wanted to or because you wanted me to?" She inhales sharply. "Either way one of us winds up hurt." 

Chris stares at her as his own eyes fill with tears, his squeezing at her hand, silently begging her to stay. "I can't give up what I believe in because you don't like it." She adds.

"I love you." He pleads, dropping her hand and holding her face instead. Their eyes met, both full of pain. "I love you." 

"I know but..." She touches his thigh, rubbing his left jean pocket and sighs. "that ring," She points out adding pressure to the circle hidden beneath the denim. "that you carry around everywhere you go hoping one day I will say yes, is why I can't. You wouldn't have bought a ring, you wouldn't have carried it around with you all these years if you could just move on." 

Chris is desperate, his heart is racing threatening to jump out of chest and he can feel himself getting dizzy, it's like she's taking the oxygen in the air. "You're not going to give me one more chance?"

"I've given you six years worth of chances." Chris stares into her eyes, shaking his head as she speaks. "I can't keep hurting you. If we don't get married, you'll be unhappy and if we do, I'll will be. Neither of us will win in this situation." 

He leans down, capturing her lips in a kiss. It's soft and innocent. He can taste the mint on her breathe and salt from her tears, he can't say goodbye to her. "I would be. I would be happy." He says against her lips. 

"No, you wouldn't." Her hand pushes at his chest, forcing him to step back and she slips from his hands. 

Chris stares at her, the woman he's been with and loved for six years, the woman whose future with him he had planned out after their second date. He envisioned everything, their anniversaries, wedding, the birth of their child. He saw it all. This wasn't in the plans. Losing her wasn't apart of it. "Reagan, I don't want to get married."

She inhales deeply, glancing at the ceiling before stepping towards him. "Tell me you love me." 

"I love you." 

"Tell me you want to spend the rest of our lives together." 

"You know I do." 

"Tell me we're going to have a family."

"We are." He says with a tear falling down his cheek. 

"Tell me I'm all you need." 

"You are."

 "Tell me if we're going to get married in the future." 

"We are." Chris closes his eyes and lets his tears fall. She played him. It was a dirty game that makes him want to scream with agony. He's going to have to say goodbye to her, the love of his life because he's an idiot who can't seem to move on from the subject of marriage. At this point, he doesn't even realize why it's so important to him anymore. His childhood was spent with hopeful wishes of his life, a husband and a family. A wife. a woman whose taken his name and promised to love him until they leave the earth. Now he's not married, not going to be getting married and he's just lost the woman he loves. 

Reagan forces a smile as her own tears drop rapidly, she wraps her arms around Chris' broad chest and sobs. They hold one another, wishing things were different that their ideas for the future matched because they want each other but fate had different plans. Six years worth of a relationship, six years of 'I love yous' and mornings making breakfast. They rehearsed scripts, bought a home. Chris listened to her when she cried over fictional characters deaths or the outrageous theories she came up with when she couldn't stay awake to read her books any further. She held his hand when he went to the hospital with a bad case of the flu, stayed by his bed and kept him up to date on the scores for the football game. 

Six years and it's over. 

It's over. 


End file.
